


It's an Instinct

by PhelfromGrace



Series: Gears, Flesh, and Home [2]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Armitage Hux Deserved Better, Budding Romance, Crack Treated Seriously, Doggy Style, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gentle Sex, Jealousy, Oral Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Shaving Kink, Sort-of Fix-it to TRoS, dark fic with light at the end, smut with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:28:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22774141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhelfromGrace/pseuds/PhelfromGrace
Summary: Another chance encounter with the infuriatingly tantalizing rebel scum leaves General Hux questioning his integrity and allegiance to the First Order.Sequel to ‘It’s All a Machine’.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Rose Tico
Series: Gears, Flesh, and Home [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1637278
Comments: 78
Kudos: 148





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning** : Due to the theme of this installment, there’s a lot of porn. Hard and soft… the whole gamut. This fic contains highly emotional scenes and serious/dark content. Not all content is tagged due to plot spoilers. If you’re a trauma survivor, please sit this one out or read the comments for spoilers to gauge if it’s safe. 
> 
> As a reminder, this AU is very canon-divergent and focuses on characters rather than SW canon events. I tried to keep Hux and Rose's characterizations true to canon, but it also relies on the setup of 'It's All a Machine' to effectively suspend disbelief.

  


A pneumatic dispenser pierced through thick coarse fabric and thin white skin, to reach into dense lean muscle that violently contracted upon contact, an unnatural reaction often associated with abuse. General Hux knew that he was pushing his personal threshold. A high-ranking officer of the First Order was rarely required to take a single stim-shot, but it would be his fourth hit to cap off an overexerting shift on the command bridge of the _Finalizer_ , as the siege of Batuu wore on longer than expected. After an infuriating escape of the captives they briefly detained, he finally decided to take a much-needed moment of respite.

Except, he did not plan on resting, hence the fourth shot. 

He removed the dispenser and dropped it onto a tray for the med droid to later collect. The initial discomfort in his deltoid began to relax, and the drug spread through his bloodstream, filling him with newfound energy and sharp awareness. He slipped his arm into the sleeve of his greatcoat, tugged the stiff collar into place, and smoothed down the lapels. Back straight and chin high, he strode out into the hall and made his way towards his private quarters. 

The turbolift could not arrive fast enough, but he waited patiently, his face and body never betraying the intense excitement that shook his core. He knew why his heart palpitated to an almost uncomfortable degree, and it had nothing to do with the stimulant. No, he had felt it the instant he was handed that datapad with the list of Resistance captives, and his eyes landed on _her_. He immediately notified detention, to send her to his chambers for personal interrogation; he did not trust her in the hands of any other officer or guard, and his instinct had proven correct. The whole lot had escaped, but she remained, because of his foresight.

He entered the lift and maintained a rigid stance during the ride, despite being alone in the confined space. His thoughts drifted to Ren and his foolish blunders when it came to captives. Twice, he held the scavenger within his grasp and she escaped right under his haughty nose. Now, the First Order bled its resources to search the entire galaxy for that blasted skittermouse.

So many wasted hours of labour to cover for Ren’s careless, reckless actions. General Hux would never commit such folly, never run headfirst and underestimate his opponent. He would not let _her_ escape so easily. 

He arrived at the upper habitation level, and walked with controlled steps to stamp down the increasingly painful anticipation. The stiffness of his First Order uniform helped to remind him where he stood, where he was. He still had a duty to fulfill as the commanding General of this ship, and _she_ was the only captive left in their custody. Even if he recognized this bodily craving and needed to confirm several inconvenient thoughts, he would first extract the necessary information, and then deal with the remainder afterwards. 

Two faithful troopers stood guard, seemingly unperturbed, a clear indication that all was moving according to plan. The retinal scan unlocked the door, and he entered his chambers to finally seek the answers to his questions, to _all_ of them.

**

He found her in the lounge, seated on the ice-blue sofa that was low enough for her feet to lay flat on the ground. He scanned her, making a quick visual assessment. Bound wrists and ankles (good precaution), no physical injuries (no need to scold his troopers), back slightly hunched (she would do well with better posture), dressed in a shapeless jumpsuit (but he knew what was hidden beneath), a sheen of sweat covered her now-visible forehead— her fringe had grown out and her shiny black hair was tied back somewhat tidily (almost meeting regulation). Only her eyes he could not assess, since she kept them focused on the floor.

“Imagine my surprise, seeing you listed among that group of captives. If I were not a man of science, I would be tempted to call this the happenings of destiny, or whatever nonsense Ren seems to prattle about these days.”

He took a few steps forwards, and still, she did not pay him any notice. Only when he encroached into her space and planted polished boots directly in front of her, she finally met his gaze. Not quite the fiery defiance that he was expecting; there was something different, almost akin to apathy. 

“We have since searched your file. Rose _Tico,_ Commander of the Resistance Engineering Corps. What shall I call you, now that I know your surname and title?”

“Rebel scum is fine. I have a file?”

“Of course. The Order keeps a database of all insurgents. Yours, admittedly, remains scant on the details.”

“That’s good to hear,” she said without a hint of relief in her tone. “I’ve researched you too, General. Starkiller Base was obviously the most notable and sickening, but the amount of smaller scale technological terror…I don’t even want to start listing off your _accomplishments_. Wish you would use your brains and resources for other tech, to actually help people in need.”

“All in good time. You see it as terror, but may I remind you, we are fighting a war with the end goal of restoring _order_ to the galaxy. Pruning off dead weight is necessary for the growth of a healthy stalk. We must rein in the chaos to achieve peace.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” She leaned back into the sofa, and stretched her neck side to side, seemingly tired of looking up. “But I’m sure you didn’t bring me here to discuss ideals. Or are you trying to recruit me again, like last time? I didn’t dream it, did I? Last time, in Canto Bight.”

No, she didn’t dream it. But he dreamt of it every time he was able to fall asleep. Even in waking hours, he replayed snippets of their conversation and the memory of her body against his… He wouldn’t let that slip of course. “Recruitment remains a viable option, although the re-conditioning might render your mental faculty unusable, which, as an engineer, is your primary asset—”

“Why am I here?” she interrupted.

“Always so impatient. Leaping straight for the jugular.”

“Don’t you have more important duties as _General_ of this ship? Shouldn’t you be at the bridge, barking homicidal commands?”

“The First Order holds high regard for the well-being of their officers, unlike some barbaric organization. I am granted enough time for rest.” His gaze dropped to her chest obscured by the shapeless garment. “An _ample_ amount.”

“You didn’t have to bring me up _here_ though. Just leave me in some cell, down in detention.”

His fist clenched behind his back. “You are too late if you were hoping to be saved by that traitorous abomination FN-2187.”

“FN— you mean Finn? Did something happen to him?”

“Are you not aware of their contingency plan? A group of rebel scum led by FN-2187 infiltrated my ship, slipped past the guard with uncanny luck, and released every Resistance captive from detention.”

“They escaped,” she murmured. A soft smile lifted her face but did not reach her eyes. “They left me behind.”

“Their escape was sloppy and barely successful. I doubt they were aware of stragglers,” he clarified for no apparent reason. “The siege of Batuu carries on, a tedious affair, but it is only a matter of time before the Resistance’s resources run dry. As for you, Commander, your chances of release will depend on your behaviour.” _Or creativity_ , he thought.

“You’re willing to let me go?”

There it was. That spark in her deep brown eyes, a special bright twinkle. 

“Not willingly. I am a realist. I cannot deny the streak of good fortune you Resistance lot seem to possess. Escape is not an impossible outcome, especially if I find myself"—his gaze again dropped to her chest— "momentarily distracted.”

“Okay, can we cut to the chase? What do you want Hux?”

“You know what I want.” He reflexively licked his lips, feeling his throat slightly parched, but the constraining collar of his uniform reminded him of his role as General of the First Order. “The new Resistance base. Where is it located?”

“You think I’m gonna tell you that? You just said you were a _realist_. That’s pure delusion.”

“We have located all your previous bases. Even without Ren’s bizarre intuition, we were able to intercept comm signals with the Resistance signature— it was the only reason I pursued the lead, I would not blindly follow Ren otherwise. But now, your current base, Ren’s sorcery has failed him and he grows impatient each day at the silence. What tech have you developed to bypass our interception?”

“Pass. Choose another question.”

“Commander Tico. If you do not comply, we will have to resort to enhanced interrogation techniques to extract the necessary information.”

“Be my guest.”

He smirked. “You’d like me to do my worst?”

“Okay Hux, what the _kriff_ are we actually talking about? You know, it’s just me and you here. You can drop the First Order General act. I know who you are, Armitage.”

“I believe one night is hardly an accurate representation of a person’s true character. You should know that, as a woman of science.”

“Well, _General_. You shouldn’t judge people by their titles. I may be an engineer, and okay yeah, I can also be cut-throat analytical about things, but never about feelings. I don’t need a cloud of data points to see when a man is in denial of his lust.”

The nerve of this woman. Yes, he still thought she looked remarkable even in that awful Resistance sack, and yes, he would like nothing more than to rip it off and explore those beautiful curves she kept hidden—he knew his lust. He had yet to understand what it meant, but he was no longer in denial of its existence. This woman knew _nothing_ of the inner turmoil she had created, of the hellish introspection he had endured for the past four months…

“Not that it makes any difference to me,” she continued. “My hands and feet are tied, and there’s no way I can even imagine myself sleeping with you again—”

His heartbeat pounded in his ears, threatening to explode. Should he grab the blaster from his belt, stun her, and throw her into solitary confinement, or stun her and, and…

“—when seeing you in that First Order uniform. I hate it. It’s such a turn-off.”

His heart stilled.

“I mean, whatever we shared that night, it’s probably best to leave it behind us. It’s clear that you’ve got unwavering ties to your stuck-up evil military regime—"

His posture instinctively slackened.

“— and I’m rebel scum. I’ll never forget how cute you looked that night, how you made me feel and how you saved me, but it’s the past.” 

His shoulders drooped and the heavy greatcoat slid askew. He hastily shed off the gaberwool shell and threw it unceremoniously to the side.

“Hey listen, I’ll comply with the interrogation, as a proper prisoner locked in a cell down in detention surrounded by your armed guards,—" 

He unclipped belt and blaster. It fell to the ground in a loud thud, and he kicked it, far enough away out of reach. 

“—n-not sitting casually on a sofa, alone in your—”

He dropped to one knee. 

“— bedroom,” she weakly finished. She kept silent as he removed her restraints, littering his floor with yet another haphazardly discarded object. She rubbed the circulation back into her wrists, staring at him, lips slightly parted in awe. 

His body moved on its own, his gloved hand stroking her cheek and gently taking her chin. There was clear conflict in her eyes, but she did not push him away, so he took the invitation. He leaned in for a kiss. 

Soft warm lips, they were everything that he remembered, and so much more, now that he knew how to surrender to the feeling. He hungrily pressed into her, with such high intensity that it caused her to flinch. He nearly backed away to ask what was wrong, but her hand took hold of his nape and fixed him into place. Fingers snaking into his hair, she massaged his scalp and pulled at the roots; she ruffled him up thoroughly as she deepened the kiss. He lost all sense of time and space. 

This infuriating woman was right: he was in denial of his lust, not mentally, but _physically_. He should have addressed his needs the moment he set foot in his chambers. The Order encouraged wellness and he was currently off duty after a grueling self-imposed forty-eight-hour shift; he could leave behind the uniform for this brief period. The interrogation could wait. 

He sat down on the sofa and pulled her into his lap. Layers of crisp charcoal grey cloth and thick grease-stained rags separated their bodies from any direct contact, but he was patient and remained perfectly content with just her mouth. If he could savour Rose’s lips like this after every shift, he would have no use for stims. 

He felt it this time, the bulge in his groin. It pulsed and grew hot, and craved her flesh. His hand travelled from the scarf around her neck, to the swell of her chest; he fiddled with the fastener of her jumpsuit, ready to drag it down. Rose abruptly placed her hand over his, then withdrew from the kiss. 

“Was I too forward?” he asked, breathlessly.

“I don’t want you to see my body.”

“It won’t come as any surprise to me. I’ve seen it before.” _And fantasized about it for 124 standard days._

“I’ve…umm, gained weight. I’d rather you not see or touch me.”

He chuckled, amused by her coy attitude. “You’re such a tease.”

He pinched the tab of the fastener and tugged lightly, but she squeezed his hand with the impressive grip of a mechanic, so hard that he yelped. “I’m warning you, Hux. Don’t touch me!”

He could not believe his ears. Over all the reasons, from her profound hatred for the First Order to their eleven-years age gap, it was excess _weight_ that stood in his path?! _Kriffin’ women._ “Rose, I thoroughly do not care about such—”

“But there are other things I can do,” she implored, peering down at the obvious strain between his legs. “With my mouth instead?”

Was she… _batting_ her eyelashes? The proposition sounded entirely suspicious. “Why would you do that?” 

“Is that even a question?”

“Of course!”

She released her grip and slipped her fingers beneath the hem of his sleeve, rubbing the bit of exposed skin on his wrist. “I never got to taste it,” she said with an uncharacteristically flirtatious lilt. Indeed suspicious. Her fingertips rested on his pulse that begrudgingly revealed his excitement. “I’m curious and hungry, Armitage.” 

“How do I know that you won’t bite…” 

He cupped her cheek with his gloved hand, then swiped the pad of his leather-clad thumb over her lips and pressed down her chin to drop open her pretty little mouth. His index brushed against her front teeth, as he tested the bounce of her tongue, from tip to back, digging further to her soft palate and down her throat, until he heard the titillating gag. The sound sent a jolt of arousal straight to his groin, dispelling all suspicion and reason. He slowly pulled out and she clamped down, with just enough pressure to feel the drag of hard teeth through the thick leather of his glove. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” 

She nodded and slipped off his lap, settling herself onto the floor, on her knees. His gaze never left her lips, while he unfastened his breeches and freed his erection. The cool ambient air hit his burning skin, only for the briefest of seconds because Rose dove headfirst, enveloping his cock with the warmth of her mouth. His head rolled back and his body slouched into the sofa, completely at the mercy of this woman’s tongue, mouth, and throat that licked, sucked, and swallowed him whole. 

He held the crown of her head with one hand, gloved fingers raking into her tied hair, while his other clenched into a creak of leather at every tight squeeze of her hollowing cheeks. At this rate, he would certainly spend himself into her, which was unacceptable. He did not wait 124 standard days to be sucked dry, albeit deliciously, like an untrained cadet tapping out at the first quarter of stormtrooper training drills. 

The image of her guzzling down his seed, watching the excess dribble down her chin, was undoubtedly a sight that he desired, but he could not waste this opportunity. He wanted so much more. He needed to see her naked, sprawled on his bed, in the heart of the First Order, panting and begging. Maybe after he pleasured her into submission, she would be convinced to stay, not as an engineer or officer, but as a companion who could provide him a daily dose of her potent stim.

“Please, Rose.” He encouraged her head away from his cock. “That’s enough.” 

She looked up, confused, with pink swollen lips that he desperately wanted to smash into. 

“I won’t be satisfied until I hear you scream in ecstasy,” he growled, then ripped off his gloves, and kicked off boots and socks. 

While he unclasped his tight collar and pried open his tunic, she stared at him, not in his eyes but at his chest. He glanced down at the lightweight beskar-filament vest. “New First Order tech. Still a prototype, but successfully mitigates death… although, not impervious to Ren’s choking.”

“My medallion.”

He instinctively touched the Haysian smelt that had grown warm from all his generated heat. He had become so accustomed to wearing the pendant that he forgot it was even there. “Do you want it back?”

“No, it’s fine. I just didn’t think you’d keep it or even wear it.”

Something changed in her eyes and demeanor, as she continued to longingly stare at the medallion and then at him. Maybe she was thinking of her destroyed home planet, her dead family, the sister who made her shed so many tears… Well, it was little of his concern. He had no time to dwell on her sentimentality when his pressing desires invaded all judgment. He discarded the armour and shook off the sleeves of his uniform, then stood up. She jumped to her feet, backing up several paces when he dropped his breeches and undergarment in one shot. Her eyes no longer focused on the medallion, apparently now distracted by his nudity.

"Enjoying the show?" He chuckled, watching her eyes dart to various parts of his body.

He couldn’t read her expression, unsure whether she remained transfixed in awe or disgust. His worst instinct suddenly kicked in, and his confidence began to dwindle when he thought about objective reality— his pasty skin, scrawny chest, thin arms, far below First Order standards. The harsh lighting in the lounge revealed every flaw of his undesirable body. 

"Why aren't you undressing? Do you need assistance?" He reached for her shoulder, but she jerked away from his touch. It confirmed his doubt. “My appearance displeases you. I understand, we don’t have to do this.”

“No! It’s not that. I just… You can’t look or touch me okay?”

“Rose, what is the point of undressing if I can’t—”

“My belly. I told you I gained weight… so don’t look or touch it, okay? Anywhere else is fine.”

What nonsense was this woman spouting? _He_ was below standards, not _her_. 

She turned around, and he watched her from behind as she removed the top portion of her jumpsuit and stripped off scarf, undershirt, and brassiere. When she bent over to take off her boots, he noticed the sharp definition of her spine— exactly what kind of excess weight was she worried about? Tugging off the remainder of the jumpsuit along with her undergarment, she finally stood in all her bare voluptuous glory, still unable to face him. That curvy bottom belonged in his palms, and he wanted to encircle her waist with his arms. He needed to feel her. 

His hand reached for her ribs, but she slapped him away before making contact. 

“Don’t touch me there. I told you. Not there.”

Cheekily, he cupped her breasts from behind. “How about here? Surely weight gain here is acceptable.”

She only responded with a deep exhale as he played with her sensitive nipples. He began ravaging her neck with nips and kisses, desperately seeking those endearing high-pitched moans, which she coyly stifled. His hand descended to the supple flesh of her inner thigh, then inched towards her crotch, noting how different its texture felt— natural, warmer and more mature, now that it was restored to its ungroomed state. His finger ran between folds; she was already drenched, but he teased her clitoris nonetheless.

Her back leaned against his chest, moaning in delight. With the shifting position, he tried to maintain his hold on her crotch, but his forearm accidently brushed the area of contention. She stiffened, and he grew tired of the secrecy. 

Boldly, his palm met her belly and he rubbed one deliberate large circle, tracing a very distinct firm bump. It was his turn to freeze.

“See? I lost my charm. We can’t do this.”

“We are at war. It is impossible to gain this sort of excess on rations.”

“You know, the Resistance is generous with their portions, we’re not slave-drivers like the First Order.”

“Rose, I am no fool. This is…”

He tried to keep himself level, but he could hardly contain the confusing spike of emotion. “A child.” His voice cracked. “You’re carrying a _child?!”_

He whipped her around, gripping her by the shoulders. “In this climate, amidst the chaos of war. Why didn’t you— _how_ can you keep such a thing?”

“A _thing?!”_ she exclaimed, eyes brimming with tears and frowning ferociously. “You cold-hearted _monster_. I knew this would be your reaction. You have such disregard for life, for any living being aside from yourself. You have no idea what love is, don’t you?”

“Love?” he sneered. “I understand very well what occurred. You chased that _mythical_ love, indeed. Was that night in Canto Bight so repulsive that you banished its memory the moment you returned to your Resistance hovel? Shacked up the first gunner you could find or was it that traitor FN-2187?” 

Her jaw dropped. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and then she bit her lip, holding back her tongue because he knew that he hit a nerve, he knew that he was right. Perhaps it wasn’t a gunner or FN-2187 per se; any man from the Resistance would do— rebellious and free, burly and strong— they were all opposite of himself and could cleanse her from his filthy First Order touch. Without a doubt, a beautiful woman like Rose would cling to that feeling, and even keep their child despite the perils of war. 

He took deep breaths to calm his fury and suppress the sharp pain in his heart. “Just before, when you were on your knees. Did you want to pleasure me, to distract me, for your escape?” 

She closed her eyes and wiped her tears with the back of her hand. He released his hold from her shoulders. 

Words were unnecessary, he knew the answer to his own question. And the answer to his inner turmoil had been so simple: people only used each other. It was the natural order of the galaxy, what he had been taught and what he witnessed all his life. The sole purpose of any sentient interaction was to take, to gain, always with a motive. He was foolish to think, to believe for even a fleeting instant, that maybe something was different. He berated himself for thinking that _he_ might have felt differently this time. That kindness… No, he just wanted to use her for her body. His erection stayed strong despite the evident taint of another man festering in her womb; he still wanted to penetrate her and sate his carnal desire. It was further testament of primal instinct, nothing more. 

“Fine. Let’s play your game, Commander. If you please me, I will let you go.” _After I secretly place a tracker on you._

She remained silent, and he held back the urge to shake her and demand a response. 

Then, she finally opened her eyes. There was no spark, no special twinkle, just cold hard determination that chilled him to the bone. “What do I have to do… to satisfy you, General?”

  



	2. II.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: self-loathing  
> tw: jealousy

A clean start. 

He needed a clean start, like wiping a datachip blank and pressing upon new memory. Cuffing her wrist with the tight clutch of his trembling hand, he dragged her to the lavatory and pushed her into the confines of the shower stall. There was no resistance, only confidence in her stance which reminded him of the girl he met on that fateful night in Canto Bight. 

Confidence, and pure disdain. It was familiar, yet unsettling, but now was not the time to ponder over a trivial matter such as sentiment.

She waited for his instructions, arms akimbo and head at a slight tilt. This turn of events fell outside of the scenarios he had rehearsed in his mind; he was stumped, without a plan, and he racked his brain for a suitable course of action. His focus skipped around the room, then laid upon the sonic razor propped by the faucet. A clean start, like a fresh morning shave. He grabbed the device and threw it at her feet. 

“Down there,” he commanded, glancing at her crotch. “Everything. I want to see you completely bare.”

She squatted all the way down, calves perfectly flush with the back of her thigh in an impressive feat of flexibility and balance. For a moment, he forgot about the erotic request and instead admired her body mechanics so unlike his own.

“What. Never seen a Haysian squat before? Guess not, since you wiped us all out.”

“J-just. Do as you’re told!”

The sonic razor hummed to life, and when she parted her legs, his attention reverted to unabashed lust. Starting with the outer edge, she pressed the head of the shaft against her skin and carefully worked her way in. The task required concentration, but she often peeked up at him, as if trying to gauge his reaction. _Cheeky girl._

As she wielded the razor, he vicariously felt it along his jaw, on his cheeks, around his mouth; he was intimately aware of the sensation, the sonic pulse that vibrated deep into the roots to dislodge the offending scruff. It was habit, routine, and almost forgettable once accustomed to the feeling. But for her, it would vibrate more than hair follicles. He swallowed hard as he watched its progressive effect on her body— the rosy tint on her golden skin, the increasing rise and fall of her chest, the quivering ankles that threatened to topple her once perfect balance.

“You are missing a spot. Closer to the edge now.”

Her index and middle finger stretched out the sensitive skin, to gain better access of the rim. She moaned every time she slipped a little too close to the edge. Such a delightful background chant for the spectacle of pink inner flesh glistening with her arousal, so smooth and pliant and ready to take him. After the last strands swept off her skin, she dropped the razor and fell forward on her knees.

“Next?” she asked, sounding breathy like the incarnation in his fantasies. “How do you want me, General? All fours, on the ‘fresher floor?”

Before he could tell her otherwise, she pivoted on spot and bent over, planting elbows on the ground and lifting her rear as an open invitation. 

He did not hesitate. He ran a finger along her spine, relishing her reflexive dip and shiver at his touch; he continued down into her crack, between folds, to confirm whether it was as moist and pliable as it had appeared. She exceeded expectations. 

The soft flesh of her seat, not even the finest simulation technology of the First Order could ever replicate this texture, the warmth, her slight tremors and endearing gasp. He wanted to lock her here and have his way whenever he pleased. He held onto her neck as he positioned himself and slowly entered. 

His personal pet, a feisty little thing that he would discipline and reward with a treat, by filling her belly with both his cock and seed. His fingertips stroked her throat that released feminine exhales at every push, every step closer to her deepest recess. Once reached, he continued to pet her soft skin. She needed a collar, in case she ever strayed from where she belonged. 

“Quit stalling and just go for it, selfish _bastard.”_

He flinched at her harsh tone, which lifted the veil of fantasy. _Insolent girl._ She knew nothing. She had no idea how much his body craved her, but a starved man could not ingest a plate of rich foods in one bite lest he desired an upheaval of said contents, a premature expulsion so to speak. He was going to savour her safely. He began cautiously rocking, backwards and forwards, keeping it steady. 

“Is that all you got? Show me how cruel you can be. Make it hurt. Make me _hate_ you.”

He ignored her taunt and carried along with his languid pace. He had waited far too long for this opportunity. He would not lose control to petty words. He would not…

“Don’t be a _weakling.”_

He slapped her ass, hard. 

The loud clap echoed within the shower stall like a piercing, incessant alarm that woke the dormant beast. The impulse had stung, both his hand and heart. Then, a faint red mark blossomed upon her pretty skin, a visual reminder of his action, of the true man behind the armour of discipline. She remained silent, but he could hear the judgment. 

_Cold-hearted monster. Cruel. Unfeeling. Incapable of so-called love._

His pace naturally sped up. The agitation coursed through his veins and spread into every muscle, until he was pounding into her like a rabid cur, an untamed beast. They were both beasts. He held onto her tail of black hair, tugging her head back while she howled, presumably from ecstasy. All release, no refinement. 

“Did that man, also take you from behind, like this.” He pulled out and rammed into her at full force, her supple flesh rippling as he repeated the action. “You like it hard, don’t you?”

“No,” she choked out. “Softer. He was soft.”

He dialed back the intensity of his thrusts and palmed her ass, stroking the red mark with care. “Like this?”

She nodded.

The medallion hanging from the chain around his neck swung like a pendulum, bouncing against his sternum in time with his light rhythm. Her body responded to his gentle pace, and true pleasure began to build. Except, he could not shake off a persistent thought: she clearly enjoyed it soft, and yet, she had demanded otherwise because she wanted to get hurt. Because she wanted to hate him. Because then, she would not be mistaken. Because right now, she was thinking of that other man. 

And he was nothing but a stand-in, a tool. 

He shouldn’t care. He was also using her. Just like his father who frequented the company of women for the sole purpose of stress relief, a boost of morale. Nothing but a pneumatic dispenser filled with stim. Used, easily discarded… and left behind in a bombing raid on Arkanis.

His hand reached around her pelvis, hooking into her crotch. “Did he play with you?” He touched her clit and she released a high-pitched mewl. “Did he satisfy you with just his fingers?”

“Ahhh…”

“That’s not an answer, Commander.” He ground into her deeply, while keeping the pressure on her sensitive nub. “Tell me, which did you prefer? His fingers or cock? Which part?”

“His mouth.”

“Oh you _filthy_ —”

“On mine! His m-mouth on m-mine,” she stammered, voice hoarse from the heavy panting as he kept a relentless pace. “Looking into his pretty eyes… fine eyelashes. Soft hair… and lips, just kissing me, caressing me.” 

He delivered a trail of kisses along her spine, leaving her shivering and moaning. “You like that, don’t you? Did he also do that, face full of unsightly stubble, tickling your skin?”

“He was… very clean-shaven.”

Unwanted images assaulted his mind. A young wide-eyed flyboy, full of vitality and brazen confidence… The Commander of the Engineering Corps, blushing, at his forward advances… Her legs spread over the console, tools lay forgotten on the floor… A rumbling cockpit… 

“Did he last?” he growled. “Was his _stamina_ unrivalled?”

“Yes.”

His grip on her hips tightened, for support, to regain control over his increasingly erratic thrusts. He refused to lose to some flyboy. “Did you beg for him, crying out his name?" 

“Yes.”

He cursed his overactive brain as the mental image turned vivid like a high-definition holo. This imagination—oh, it had its use, he wouldn’t be where he was today without it. He might not possess physicality and divine powers like Ren, but he had a creative mind, one that led his team of engineers with innovative ideas. And his memory, so sharp that he could even recall insignificant star systems such as Otomok. 

This treasured asset, however, became a curse. Because in this moment, he watched Rose begging for release from the flyboy who rode her like one of his starships. Her pleasured face, the one he longed to see, the one he didn’t appreciate the first time…

“How many times. The night you conceived. How many times, did he bring you to orgasm?”

She let out a loud drawn-out moan. 

“How many times?!” he shouted, ramming into her but not feeling like he had reached deep enough. “Answer me!”

“Twice!”

“Did he finish inside…” The answer was obvious, but he couldn’t stop himself. He could no longer concentrate. “Did he release his hot seed into you?” 

“Yes.”

Too many unwanted images, too many questions haunted his mind. The overwhelming stimuli exhausted both brain and body. 

“Do you crave his touch?” His grip slackened, and his muscles threatened to collapse. “Do you long for him?” _Of course she did._ “Do you wish he was here?” _Wasn’t that evident?_

He knew all the answers.

“Do you…” The pain in his heart culminated, and he completely stopped thrusting into her. He couldn’t reach her, no matter how hard he tried. He had become nothing but soft. 

“Do you love him?”

From his vantage point, he only saw the back of her head hung low. “I do,” she whispered, then looked back to meet his gaze. “I _stupidly_ do.”

Armitage pulled out in defeat. 

She sat up, legs lazily spread wide open, and back leaning against the shower wall as she caught her breath. 

“Do you hate me?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Armitage. I think that’s a question you should ask yourself.”

He took her advice literally and caught his reflection in the mirror above the sink. _Pathetic._

Grief-stricken, eyes bloodshot, the salty sting of tears rolled down his cheeks. He quickly wiped them away, but the burning trail had already done its damage. She had seen him; she was a witness. Why did this keep on happening? He never showed tears in front of anyone, even when beaten to a bloody pulp, but she had already seen him twice. This woman, she tore him down without even trying. Always breaking down his walls, smashing through his shields to rob what little pride he had left. 

He looked down at his flaccid penis. 

_Useless. Good for nothing. Weakling._

He failed to fulfill his fantasies. He glanced at her wet arousal, unsatisfied, still in plain sight. He even failed to pleasure her into submission. 

Armitage dropped to his knees and crawled on all fours, towards her, like a pitiful pup. He dove in between her legs, nose inhaling her heady scent, and stretched out his tongue to lap her up fully, front to back. 

He could not accept failure just yet. He would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. The end always justified the means. And he counted his blessings because this was not a cold hard dirty floor, but hot infinitely soft and sacred flesh. There were no shards of glass to cut his tongue, only a smooth envelop that coated his mouth as he devoured her labia and sucked her clit, nose burying deep within folds. He could not breathe, but he did not care. 

“A-A-Armitage.”

Her fingernails raked into his scalp and began tugging the roots, pulling him up. “It’s okay…”

No, he kept himself firmly planted, determined to bring her to orgasm. Jaw aching and lungs on the verge of collapse, he only sank deeper, pushed himself harder. Always harder, without break, without support. Always alone, fending for himself. Just a lonely _useless_ child…

“…please, enough—"

He was born in this galaxy, a mistake. He told himself, it was his destiny to rule. But deep down, he knew. There was no such thing as destiny, and if such a concept did exist, certainly it would favour royalty— that petulant son, of the galaxy’s precious princess of Alderaan. Not a nobody like him. A cold-hearted _bastard._

“Armitage!” 

Her strong grip wrenched him away, and he gasped for air. His surroundings were a blur of indistinct shapes and colour, a disorienting mess, but the hands that cradled his face kept him supported and brought him back to grounded reality. Heaving and bleary-eyed, his vision eventually came into focus and he saw her, deep eyes filled with genuine concern and kindness. She enlaced her arms around him, placing his head onto her heart that beat just as loudly as his own. “Don’t… worry me like that.” 

She held him for some time, petting his hair and kissing his crown, until finally, she released him and got up to activate the shower jets. Warm mist engulfed the stall, helping to loosen the tension in his muscles.

“I lost.”

“You didn’t.”

“You won. Just leave. I concede.”

“Technically, _you_ won because I didn’t please you, but that’s not the point. Armitage, sex isn’t a zero-sum game. _Never_ abuse your body like that.”

Her small hands lathered soap into his hair, rubbing small circles along his temples, encouraging the circulation back into his numb brain. He took deep breaths, replenishing the air that he did not realize was missing. Water droplets pelted onto his skin, onto the floor, like the sound of rain. He felt like a young child on Arkanis.

“You don’t have to answer me, but I was wondering…about your umm… history.”

“History?”

“Like, with partners. Intimate partners.” 

He was in no mood to think about any other person aside from Rose, whose gentle fingers massaged his scalp and assuaged a deeper ache. There was no history before her, as far as he was concerned. The men and occasional women, they were no different from pleasure droids or devices. 

“Mine’s pretty obvious,” she added, breaking the silence. “You knew I was a virgin before you even met me… but it doesn’t mean I’ve never been in love because I _have_ — although it didn’t last long that one time, and the others were always one-sided…” 

She was rambling, with that sped-up cadence when she was nervous or trying to cover up her true intent. He quite liked her voice. Even when agitated, it rang like a lullaby.

“Okay, actually, never mind. I don’t need to know about who you’ve slept with before, in fact, I didn’t want to know at all because it’s not important. I just brought it up because I didn’t want to assume, I just wanted to confirm… Have you ever been in love?”

He stiffened. He considered staying silent, but her earnest tone seemed to pull the words out of his mouth. “If I lived with sentimentality, I would not have risen to the rank of General. I would not maintain my position within the First Order.” _I would not survive._

Her ministrations began to wane, eventually coming to a full stop as she rested her palms on his shoulders.

“The baby’s father… It’s one-sided love, again.” She chuckled, and her hands left his shoulders. “It’s a good thing he doesn’t know he’s the father. I don’t trust he’ll take it well… I mean, what if he forces a miscarriage, or takes my kid away from me? Maybe I’m being paranoid and cynical, but even if there’s a slim chance, it’s a risk that I don’t want to take.”

He abruptly stood up, and she skittishly backed up into the wall. 

“I forget how tall you are sometimes,” she muttered, blushing and averting his gaze. 

What a strange woman. After all that was done to her body, she was suddenly intimidated by his height? Well, her confidence always made up for her short stature, and she currently looked tired, vulnerable even.

“Let me wash your hair.” 

He turned her around and uncoiled the blue wire that secured the tail of hair. It was his first time fully feeling the strands, so thick and lush. Sleek and dark like endless space. He had spent most of his life looking out starship portholes, gazing into the deep expanse. He recognized its beauty. She was so beautiful. 

She relaxed into him as he combed fingers through her hair, lathering soap and returning the favour of massages and comfort. After the suds completely rinsed out, he shut off the jets and engaged the moisture reversal function. The rains ceased, replaced by a low hum and a warm, tingling sensation as the water slowly evaporated. 

“The… father,” he said tentatively, ignoring the images of his own father appearing in his mind. “That man sounds vile. You are wise to be cautious. Don’t tell him about your child.” 

“He probably won’t believe me, even if I told him. Or maybe he knows but is still in denial.” She paused, then corrected, “No, I think he just doesn't believe in love.”

“Don’t be reckless. Not only for your safety, but for the child’s.”

She stood on tiptoes and kissed the tip of his nose, then his lips. “I can’t make any guarantees.”

That cheeky smile, it looked as if she _wanted_ him to lock her up and keep her safe from that abhorrent flyboy. He lifted her conveniently petite body in his arms, and carried her to his bedroom. They both needed rest.

When he placed her down on the bed, she sprung up and sat with her back against the headboard. He settled himself next to her, and she immediately leaned her head onto his shoulder. “Must be depressing coming back to this desolate room. It’d be nice if you had some sort of companion, like a pet.”

The innuendo was not lost, but he had no energy to bite. “In my youth, I had an imaginary animal companion. A feline, named Millicent.”

“Millicent… That’s a pretty name. Why don’t you adopt one for real?”

“The responsibility of a dependent would be difficult to say the least, given the circumstances.” His eyes inadvertently glanced at her belly, then quickly shifted, hoping that she didn’t notice. 

“You know, I thought about ending it,” she confessed. “I was _furious_ when I found out, ashamed and dirty. The father, I told you, he’s a mess. And this war, it’s not an environment to bring up a kid. But… it's a _life_. With all this death around us, giving life is important." 

Always giving. He couldn’t understand why she just didn’t take— take the life, get rid of the burden. Then again, all he did was take, and still, he only felt burdened.

“I didn’t get a clear answer last time, in Canto Bight… Armitage, what do you want out of this war?”

Such a loaded question that could take hours of elaboration. “Power,” he simply responded. “To stand at the top.”

“Hmm. And when you’re standing on top of everyone, wouldn’t there be people crawling at your feet, trying to pull you back down? You’ll have to fight forever. Aren’t you… tired?”

He was. But he didn’t want to have this discussion. “Why do you fight?” he shot back.

“I’m trying not to anymore. I’m trying to save what I love.”

Love. Another discussion he wanted to avoid.

“Can you do me a favour?” she suddenly asked. “Can you… kiss my belly?”

Her plea took him aback. She looked so shy, almost pained and scared that he was going to decline. There was no need to worry. He bent down, nose grazing her skin as he decided where to plant the kiss. When his lips pressed down, just above her navel, she sharply inhaled. He repeated the chaste kisses, while his hand met her belly, gently caressing the bump. She sniffled, then started to cry. 

“I want… to be with him. I want to save him, but I don’t know how, I don’t think it’s possible. Please, Armitage, hold me and tell me everything is going to be alright.”

He didn’t need to be told. The instinct was already there. 

He embraced her tightly, stroking her back as she sobbed into his shoulder. It did not matter that she was pining over another man because, in this moment, she was here in his arms seeking comfort from _him,_ Armitage Hux. She was neither a fantasy nor an object of desire, but a tangible, living and breathing woman who soaked his skin with her tears. She was simply, Rose Tico. 

She pulled away from his chest to look into his eyes. Deep brown irises, almost black, glistening like twinkling stars in endless space. She looked at him with raw, open emotion, it was impossible to misinterpret her intentions. She wanted him. 

And when she leaned in to press her lips onto his, he felt the connection. They had kissed many times before, but this truly felt like their first. 

There was no urgency, no motive or expectation of greater pleasure. Just a profound feeling of comfort, of two lonely people touching and sharing a moment, together, in this chaotic world. They took their time, alternating between the link of their gaze to the joining of their lips. He never imagined, with his highly esteemed brain and visionary mind, that this simple gesture could fill him with such immense satisfaction. 

She moved closer onto his lap to straddle him. With her bare sex now nestling into his, he could not help it. His body was primed to respond to hers. Embarrassingly, he grew hard.

Her hand reached for his base, but he took her wrist. “Rose. Don’t be obliged. I can handle it later.”

“Dummy, let me be selfish okay? I really want this. Unless you’re too tired?”

“Never for you.”

She angled his cock and seated herself, gliding in with just the right amount of resistance that sent his mind reeling. Without the shroud of darkness and the veil of lust, he saw her clearly, as a women who accepted him, who wanted to be filled and embraced by him in every possible way. She placed one hand on his shoulder while the other searched for his; he took her hand, interlocking the joints, and clenching tightly as her hips began to move into him. 

Again, there was no urgency. She controlled the pace and ground into him at a comfortable rhythm, resting her forehead onto his, always with that attentive gaze. 

Those soulful eyes, so deep and glossy like a mirror. He saw his own reflection, the very literal image of what she was seeing: him, Armitage. Not only the pitiful boy from Arkanis, but also the ruthless General of the First Order. She knew who he was because he had bared it all, for better or worse, he had shared his burden. 

Despite his inherent flaws and terrible actions, she embraced him. And for that, he was at her service, eager to finally give instead of take. The answer had been so simple. Rose was different, special, with a kindness that knew no bounds. There was no reason to take, to use her body because she was always ready to give. He wanted to return the favour. To treat her well, to cherish this kindness.

Her speed picked up, but he never let go of her hand. She drove into him so thoroughly, so deeply that he felt like he could touch her womb, like a twisted return to the beginning, where life began. She had him swaddled so tightly, warm and safe, as she rocked him until he could no longer keep his eyes open. 

And when her distinct clench sent him over the precipice, into the depths of ecstasy as he released into her, he realized that this act was a celebration, a moment to rejoice. 

Because life was a gift.

  


**

General Hux emerged from his chambers as if no time had passed, uniform perfectly pressed and not a single hair out of order. His faithful troopers flanked the door, standing in the same position as last seen. 

“Let the girl rest for now,” he announced, voice steady and commanding. “At 800, access to the chamber will be remotely granted. Bring her to detention. Maximum security, solitary confinement. Do no harm, she is a valuable asset.”

As he strode down the hallway and waited for the turbolift, he tried not to dwell on Rose’s inevitable wrath upon the news. He hoped that she would come to understand, to see the logic behind his decision. The Resistance was doomed, whereas the _Finalizer_ , this impenetrable fortress under his command, would keep her safe from the perils of war. 

Rose. She was so special. He vowed to protect her life at all cost, even if it meant eternal disdain.

  


  



	3. III.

General Hux departed from the bridge with his usual flurry of gaberwool, greatcoat billowing in the wake of confident strides across the deck and down the halls of his flagship. Polished black boot heels clapped against polished black floors, as if they were cut from the same material, as if nothing was out of order. None of his officers would notice that the tempo of his steps was raised an increment faster than normal; only to his ears, the beat matched the drum of his heart that never slowed down ever since he left her that morning.

His two loyal troopers awaited him by a vacant fleet transport; without a word, he boarded and the astromech droid drove them to destination. Discreet, efficient, all according to plan. Nobody aside from himself was aware that a Resistance captive remained in First Order custody. He eyed the troopers by his side. Well, they were effectively nobodies and could be reconditioned if necessary, minds wiped of this entire incident. It was crucial that such sensitive information not rouse the attention of Kylo Ren, who was thankfully still planetside in search of his own obsession. 

Upon arrival, General Hux signaled to his troopers to stand guard outside the maximum-security holding cell. He inserted his master code cylinder into the nearby security panel; it disengaged the lock and the heavy pneumatic door opened with a hiss. Chin held high, he entered as a commanding General, but once the door closed shut, all bravado faltered upon the sight of her huddled form sitting in the corner of the modest chamber. He lunged forward on instinct, then reeled back as he remembered the second wall of security: an energy field with the power to knock out a Wookiee at the merest touch. She was wise to keep her distance.

“Is this environment suitable for an interrogation?”

She shot him a vicious glare, no apathy, just pure anger. He expected this reaction since he was beginning to understand Rose Tico. And the sooner she understood _him,_ the sooner they could overcome this hurdle. “The Resistance base. Where is it located?”

“ _You_ cold-hearted son of a—.”

“The faster you tell me, the faster this war will end.” 

“I knew I couldn’t trust you! I am so stupid for believing that you’d have a change of heart.”

He surveyed the control panel on the wall, ensuring that surveillance was deactivated; it had never been turned on, much to his relief. He then used his code cylinder to power down the energy field, all the while feeling her furious glare burning the back of his neck, so strong that the hairs beneath his collar seemed to stand at attention. His uniform always made him feel omnipotent, even impervious to the physical violence of Force users, but now, it was nothing more than threads hanging off his lanky frame.

A lifetime of training however taught him well. He would not cower and bend to her will, not when he knew he was right. He took one step forward, and her eyes widened in fear. She sprung up, assuming a fighting stance. “Oh no you don’t! Don’t you dare wheedle yourself back in.” 

He continued his approach.

“Get away from me!” she shouted. “Don’t you _dare_ touch me again!”

He stopped at a comfortable distance, well, comfortable for him. He wasn’t sure anything could comfort her at the moment, but he needed to try. He needed her to see reason, and then perhaps, he could bring her back to his chambers while the First Order finished their remaining conquests of the galaxy. 

“Rose. When I freed you on Canto Bight, when your identity as rebel scum had not yet been revealed, did I not provide you the means to pursue a quiet life, away from all conflict?”

“I wouldn’t use your dirty _criminal_ backchannel account for that.”

“And no, you did not indeed. I no longer have access to the account as it was handed off to you, but I was made aware of a peculiar increase in production by one of our arms dealers.”

She looked to the floor, probably from guilt. She was terrible at hiding her emotions.

“T-85 X-Wings,” he punctuated slowly, watching her wince. “The staple starfighter of the decimated Republic fleet. How curious that a demand would flourish shortly after that fateful night. What a mighty coincidence.”

“Okay, fine, you caught me. Now that the lust wore off, you’re finally understanding what it means to be rebel scum, that _I_ am rebel scum. That’s why you’re locking me up. Is that it?”

“Wrong. You have chosen to devote your life to a failing cause. You would rather feed the machine of war, than quietly settle on a remote planet with all comforts provided.” 

“What’s your point, Hux?”

“My _point,_ is that you will chase danger the moment you are released. I can’t have danger befall you.”

“Danger? What do you…Wait, are you saying you care about me?”

He blinked in surprise. He never thought of it in those terms, but he supposed that might be the case. His silence, or maybe his intense fixation, seemed to set her off.

“Oh stars, you _care_ about me?” She laughed mirthlessly. “That’s rich. Who is it that you’re even looking at? Are you sure you’re seeing _me_ and not some toy you want to play with, a pet that you want to keep?!”

“Rose, you must see reason. The First Order controls all the major star systems of the galaxy. Your Resistance is doomed. Any retaliation will only prolong the inevitable. The sooner you reveal the location of your main base, the faster this war will end.”

“For kriff sakes, are you _hearing_ yourself right now? After everything the First Order has taken from me, you think I’d just— I thought you understood, that you at least _respected_ that bit about me.”

“It isn’t a matter of respect! I recognize your hatred for the First Order, that you want to fight with every fiber of your being. However, the hard truth remains: you are losing.”

“That’s not how it works, Hux.”

“Yes, it does. Those with greater resources and technology will eventually win the war. Then, once the dust of the battlefield has settled, we will nurture the galaxy’s industries and improve the lives of all inhabitants. Order will be restored.”

“You can never change people’s hearts. There will always be rebellion.”

“Feelings are irrelevant in the face of reality. The First Order possesses superior ideals, a system that will prevail. We hold all the power and we will take control. It’s only a matter of time.”

“The heart is stronger than any system.”

He almost wanted to shake her, touch her, wake her up to the truth. He suppressed the urge. “Rose, the location of your base, _please.”_

“You really don’t get it, do you?”

“What is there to get?!” he barked back, teeth bared and heat rising to his ears. “You are stubborn and foolhardy, and you will not shy away from combat despite your pacifist rhetoric. I will not have you _die_ in the crossfire. What more do you want me to say? What is it that you want to hear? What will convince you to comply? Do I have to say that I’m trying to save what I—”

“Oh you rotten scumsack!” she yelled over him before he could finish the sentence. “Don’t _kriffin’_ say that word when we both know you don’t mean it.”

“At least we can agree on that fact.”

Her jaw dropped. Then closed. It didn’t seem like she knew what to do with her mouth, whether to growl or whimper. Red bloomed in her cheeks like he had slapped her across the face. 

He didn’t intend to be ruthless, he didn’t mean to hit her with harsh words, to hurt her. A sob escaped her throat and the sound strangled his windpipe, choked him up with unfamiliar emotion. Then, tears welled up from those delicate brown eyes. They fell and fell, and his heart sank deeper and deeper. 

He reached out. Fearing that she would drift away, he pulled her into his arms and desperately clung on for support, to stay afloat. Like a violent tide, she attempted to shake him off, but he kept firm and rode her turbulent waves of anger, of sadness, of confusion and everything in between. Until finally, they subsided, and he felt her body completely melt into his chest, her small arms wrapping around his thin torso to return the embrace. 

He wanted to hold her forever, like this. Just a man and a woman, two individuals, stripped of rank and identity. If only their circumstances were different. If only he had been born under a different star… well, it was useless to linger on such thoughts that would never come to be. There was only the present, and a future to protect.

“I need you to survive,” he whispered into her hair as he placed a kiss on her crown. He then loosened his grip and removed one of his gloves. Just one more time, he wanted to feel her smooth skin against his own.

Bare fingertips caressed her cheek, wiping away the traces of tears. He placed his index under her chin, encouraging her to look up into his pleading eyes. Those delicious pink lips, slightly parted, begged to be kissed, but he summoned all the restraint that he could muster to stop himself from giving into temptation. 

“Rose, please understand. The Resistance may draw a little blood with a bite now and then, but the First Order will always win.”

He savoured those beautiful brown eyes that appeared to have finally understood. He smirked. Any time now, she would reveal the location and he would capture her lips in a searing kiss. Maybe their bodies would tumble onto the adjacent thin mattress, and touch once more without barriers.

Her brows suddenly dipped into a frown. Before he could react, her teeth had already sunk into his finger. She bit him hard, so deep that she drew blood. 

Yelping and pulling back in surprise, she released him and spat in contempt. She was feral, wild-eyed, beyond reason. He rushed to the control panel and activated the energy field that would keep this beast at bay. Perhaps it had been a mistake to visit her this soon. With more time, that fury would calm down and she would see straight at last. That anger, it was still fresh. He had just come too soon.

Before leaving the chamber, he slipped on his glove. He winced at the pain of leather rubbing against open skin, encasing his finger within its tight, hot confine. 

Like the ghost of her mouth.

**

The punctures healed almost instantly with the First Order’s superior medical technology, but his finger continued to throb throughout the increasingly unnerving hours of the siege. Batuu had not yet been conquered and Ren remained planetside; two facts that deviated from his projected timeframe. While he wished nothing more than the untimely demise of their incompetent Supreme Leader, his prolonged absence struck as peculiar, especially with the silence and calm on the bridge of the _Finalizer_ amidst a supposed military engagement. Not a single Resistance cruiser nor starfighter circled their orbit ever since the I-TS incident; there were no signs of threat, but General Hux felt wary and began to doubt his calculations. 

Doubt. A sentiment unbecoming of a General. 

Staring into deep space, he only saw lush black hair, and dark eyes twinkling like starlight. He felt her teeth on his finger, again. 

His hand clenched behind his back to shake off the memory. 

He couldn’t be weak-willed about his decision. The end always justified the means. He knew that caging her would condemn him; he never expected her to stay by his side, he just needed her to _exist_ in this plane of time and space. Death was ultimate separation, a wall crossed without return. Nothing existed beyond this threshold, no eternal paradise nor damnation. Just bleak cessation, absolute nothingness, utterly counter to what he had come to know of Rose Tico who was so full of life and potential. He couldn’t stand the thought of her ceasing to exist. He had to keep her within the realm of the living. 

_Oh stars, you care about me?_

Great, now he was hearing her voice in his head. As if the phantom touch of her tongue on his ear was not enough.

Regardless of sentiment, locking her behind the impenetrable walls of the First Order was, statistically, the most viable option for her safety. Why couldn’t she understand this? Her previous Resistance mission had forced her into bondage in a brothel, which he remedied. Her current mission had landed her within the hands of his men, with possible interrogation under duress had he not intervened. If left on her own devices, she would certainly stumble into more trouble and get herself killed. Her naivety, her clumsy honesty, her heart laid wide open to both physical and emotional pain… he was right to keep her caged, stowed away, far from danger. 

Only his walls would keep her safe. 

“Incoming Resistance fleet.”

He was right, he had to be. He couldn’t be weak-willed and cave to her huddled form, to the pain in her eyes as she stared him down, furious and feral, masking her sadness. 

“General?”

Was she cold down in that chamber? Perhaps he should have checked its environmental conditions before leaving her alone. He had been too distracted by the bite, the feeling of her sharp teeth and hot mouth. His finger twitched again from the memory.

“General! The lead starfighter is requesting contact.”

Hux snapped back to reality, whipping around to meet the emotionless face of his officer. He tried to return an equal amount of stoicism, but he could not hide the distaste from his voice. “Patch him through.”

A crackle of static signified that the line had connected. He wasted no time to speak, as he knew who was leading the parade. “I am not falling for your distractions, Dameron.”

“Oh, Hugs? Perfect. Just who I wanted to speak to.”

“Let it be known that today marks the end of your pitiful Resistance on the Batuu system. Your outpost has been swept clean, crushed under the soles of the First Order, and your remaining forces scattered like vermin will be snuffed out in a matter of time.”

“Hey, I wanted to apologize for last time. Really, I wasn’t aware of the whole, well, your whole backstory— everyone has a backstory, things that make them tick, things that shouldn’t be joked about, I get it. You know, I’m a good guy—"

“What nonsense are you spouting, Dameron?”

“Like I said, I want to make a public apology. These things are recorded, right? Use it however you want, for your propaganda, a playback to fall asleep, as a piece of history that umm… marks the end of the Resistance on Batuu or whatever you claim. It’s my token to you. Anyway, so make sure that button is pressed on record because I’m only saying this once. Slow and clear, here I go— I, Commander Poe Dameron of the Resistance fleet, serving under the esteemed General Leia Organa, Princess of Alderaan and sister of Luke Skywalker, Jedi master and hope of the galaxy—”

“Sir!” yelled an officer, unusual panic in both tone and expression. “Cloaked Resistance starfighters. Forty-seven percent of our point-defense turrets have been annihilated all at once…F-fifty-one percent, numbers are rapidly climbing.”

“—a true legend, really, he’s nothing short of amazing—"

“Cut the comm line! Deploy all fighter squadrons! I don’t want a single X-wing left unscathed.” 

As quick as a blaster bolt, the calm of the bridge was shot into sudden frenzy, of officers volleying updates and relaying alarming facts of the unfolding battle. Much of the Resistance fleet had bypassed their scopes, their numbers increasing by the minute like ghouls rising from the grave of dead space. He didn’t want to think about where they got that tech, exactly _who_ developed such a sophisticated cloaking device.

General Hux never paced to release his nerves, no matter the intensity of the fight, no matter the agitation. But in this moment, his legs raced from one console to the other, every which way across the bridge, obsessively demanding every detail, every blast fired and hit incurred. Palms sweating under leather, the throb in his finger ever so present, his jaw became sore from gnashing teeth and grinding out commands. They still had the upper hand, they wouldn’t call for reinforcements just yet, they could handle this fleet. 

Until, the red light descended upon the bridge. And the whine of the emergency alarm pierced his eardrums.

“Collision at 24.60.92, west wing, lower deck. A Vakbeor-class cargo frigate. We’ve been broadsided!”

“The damage. How critical?!” he shouted at the frightened officer. It was just one collision. This couldn’t be the end. No, they had more fight.

“I-Isotope containment wells, crippled. Maintenance is attempting access to the area.”

“Access denied,” piped in another officer. “The fires are too great. Emergency lockdown has been engaged to prevent its spread.”

“Air supply systems in the west wing are failing. All personnel have begun their evacuation.”

He knew what this meant. If the engineers could not access the area and remedy the problem, the ship would slowly go down in flames, like bleeding out from a small wound that wouldn’t clot. But amidst the storm of officers relaying updates of the evacuation, Armitage Hux remained anchored to a single concern.

Rose.

A perfect General of the First Order would not dare leave his post. They would stay at the bridge and only move once all their crew was successfully evacuated. The high command escape shuttle was only a door away from the bridge; his safety would not be compromised. But… 

_Rose._

She was trapped. They would never let any prisoner escape. Not even a General could remotely bypass the cell’s security because the system was designed to keep them locked in. The perfect death trap in a state of emergency.

“General. Should we alert the _Steadfast_ and its nearby fleet for reinforcements?” 

“Rose.” 

“Sir?”

His feet instinctively moved forward. Then, he dropped all decorum and ran out the bridge. 

“SIR!”

**

Within the blur of his surroundings in his mad dash, he spotted an empty fleet transport. He jumped aboard, imputed his destination, and precariously leaned forward to pop open the front panel of the astromech droid. He had tinkered with this model before; he knew that it would be dangerous, yet he cranked up the output far beyond its normal capacity. The transport sped forward at an alarming rate, droid rumbling and sparks flying. It began to smell of burnt wire, hissing in warning, but Hux did not care. He needed it to go faster. 

Approaching detention, he leapt out of the moving vehicle and tumbled on the ground, just as the droid’s head spontaneously combusted, shards of metal violently bursting into char and embers. He made the rest of the journey by foot, sprinting down the hallway and shedding his cumbersome greatcoat to cut through the air, to reach her faster.

He was wrong. He should never have imprisoned her. He should have left her in his chambers. No, he should have let her _free_ when he had the chance. 

Lungs burned from the stale air that he greedily inhaled, powering his muscles that threatened to fail. He refused to give up. He would push this body like he had pushed that droid: beyond its capacity, until it exploded. This was one death that he could not bear on his conscious. She had touched him too deeply and thoroughly that the scar might tear his entire resolve. What was the point of survival, of attaining ultimate power, if he couldn’t even save one person?

He finally arrived at the holding cell, sweating and panting and trembling as he fumbled for the code cylinder. He shoved the device into the security panel. No response. He tried again, with more force. Again, nothing, just a dead piece of junk. He knew it wouldn’t work, but he had hoped that he was wrong. The emergency protocol strictly forbade a prisoner’s escape; nobody could unlock the door, not even him, the mighty General Hux of the First Order. He was wrong before, why couldn’t he be wrong again? Why couldn’t he be wrong when it mattered?

“KRIFF!”

He kicked the unmoving metal and ignored the pain that shot up his leg.

Wild animals and creatures were caged for one’s safety. But humans, people, sentient beings, they did not belong behind impenetrable walls. She was chaos incarnate; he should have never attempted to contain her. He didn’t believe in a divine power, but surely, this was punishment for his hubris. 

His fists pounded against the durasteel, as he slumped to his knees, crying out to deaf ears. She wouldn’t hear him; the wall was too thick, impervious to all sound and contact. This door, this wall of separation. He had pushed her past the threshold, of death. He _killed_ her. 

Her beautiful face, one that looked remarkable even in dreary rags. Her brilliant mind, one that countered his team of engineers against all odds. Her kind heart, she who accepted him despite robbing everything that she held dear. Now, he even took away her life. Her potential, the light that she shined upon others because Rose always _gave._

_I killed her._

He had killed before, orchestrated murder, witnessed bloodbaths, reveled at the reported billions of lives that he had extinguished. He held no remorse; they were always just bodies, numbers, collateral damage. He had even laughed over their corpses, enjoyed the thrill, and took pride in ridding the galaxy of insignificant vermin. Because they were just objects. This time was different. Rose was different. She was not an object, not a collection of body parts for his pleasure and needs; she was a complex sentient individual, who laughed and cried and lived free, with a mind capable of endless imagination. She was human. Was _this_ how it felt to kill a human?

He screamed in agony, a guttural cry that ripped his vocal cords, a burst as violent as the exploding droid. He wished he could spontaneously combust. He wanted to gouge out his eyes, bash in his nose, tear out his eardrums, cut off his tongue, and flay all his skin, so that he never had to see, smell, hear, taste, and touch, ever again. This pain, it was unbearable. 

He punched his chest, this useless body that could never do anything right. If only he had brute strength and a laser sword, or sorcery— Ren wouldn’t have any problem blasting through this door. No, he was just Armitage, a pathetic, skinny, mere mortal who _thought_ he possessed something truly special. He clawed at his heart, wishing that he could pierce it and bleed out, to put him out of this misery. 

And then, he felt it. A small bump, from the piece of metal hidden beneath stiff cloth in the middle of his chest. 

Her medallion.

He might not have sacred weapons and divine powers bestowed upon him at birth, nor was he blessed with superior musculature and great physical strength. He only had a mind, ingenuity, and discipline to swallow his emotions and think, the ability to concentrate under duress. Armitage did not quit.

He took a deep breath, and focused.

This was _his_ ship. He knew it front to back, inside and out. Even though he had a team of engineers to work in his stead, and he had been away from this trade for so long, at his core, he tinkered and understood the mechanics. He was a bit rubbish at fixing things, but he knew how to break them; he would break that lock. 

He wrenched open the control panel. He took off his gloves. He rolled up his sleeves. He got to work.

He had never done this before, but theoretically, he should be able to short-circuit the router responsible for engaging the locks by switching these wires to port DW-2 and 9, and removing all compressor chips, and maybe sticking one randomly in slot A-6 for added measure. He pushed back his hair and pressed his lips in consternation. Now, all he needed was an actual tool, something to re-route the current and overload the hot spot.

Haysian smelt, best conductor. 

Gripping the center of his collar with both hands, he ripped open his uniform. Fasteners popped off beyond repair, and he tugged the chain to pull out the medallion. Licking the tip of the half moon, he shoved it into the designated port: the effect was instantaneous. He jumped back as the metal surged with heat, singeing his fingertips, but it was worth the pain. The lock disengaged. 

He still needed to open the door manually. Taking off his belt, he wedged the thin metal buckle into the tight seal, to crack an opening large enough for his fingers to slip between. He succeeded, dropped the belt, and pried the rest open with his bare hands.

Bursting into the chamber, high on adrenaline, he panicked when he did not see her. Where was she?! Did she manage to escape? 

Then, he looked down and saw her crouched next to him, head halfway inside a cavity she had opened from the wall under the control panel, clearly tinkering with wires. 

“Rose!” 

“Armitage?” She peeked out and pointed at the door. “Did you do that, or did I do that?”

“We have no time.” 

“For what?”

“Hurry! Let’s go!” He grabbed her hand and sprinted. 

The hallway was empty, and he hoped that the guards did not take all the escape pods. His singular focus, on getting her to safety, blinded him to the fact that his stride, much longer than hers, was too much for her to handle. She tripped, and he was forced to stop. But he did not miss a beat, as he picked her up by the waist and threw her over his shoulder. 

“Armitage! Put me down. I can run.”

“No.”

“At least tell me what the kriff is going on! First the power goes down and the energy field shuts off, then you barge in like a beast of a man, completely undone, looking like you’ve seen _death.”_

“The ship is going down.”

“What?”

“The Resistance won,” he stated. “The _Finalizer,_ is no more.”

She stayed silent and no longer resisted the carry. 

Relief washed over him at the sight of a bank of available escape pods. He entered one, placed her down, and got to work again on another control panel. This time, he needed to remove the pod’s First Order signature and render it untraceable to their eyes. An easy task.

“Are you scrambling the transmission processor? Since when do you know how to do that?”

“Basics. Who do you take me for?”

Task quickly completed, he turned around to face her. “Rose. Live.”

He backed up, but she caught his wrist before he could step out. “You’re not, kidnapping me? You… came back for that, right? The ship’s going down, so you need to take me with you, for more interrogation, right??”

“I need to get to my escape shuttle.”

“No, not yet.” Her fingers dug into his flesh, almost painfully. “You’ve unmarked this pod and you’re letting me free. What does this mean, Armitage?!”

She did not relent. He still had time to return to the bridge, but not enough if she wouldn’t let him go. 

“Stop confusing me! Stop giving me _hope!”_

“Rose! Listen to me. Remain stationary at your base. You hear me? Do not leave your base. You don’t stand any chance of survival without me, feeding you First Order intelligence, to ensure your safety. I’ll find a way to get a signal out without compromising your location.” 

Her grip began to slacken. “Y-you’re going to betray the First Order?”

“I will do no such thing!”

“Then what the _kriff_ are you talking about?!”

There was no time for discussion. He had to get back to his post. He shook her off, then removed the chain and medallion around his neck to loop it around hers. “Be a good Commander. Do not partake in suicide missions and do not involve yourself with any more reckless flyboys.” 

“What? Reckless fly—"

He smashed into her lips, passionately kissing her, knowing it would be their last. When he pulled away, her pretty eyes glistened, in a daze. “Please trust me just this once. Farewell, Rose.”

He expected her to bid him farewell, but instead, she tore off the necklace and chucked it back at him. He caught the chain between fingers, glancing at the medallion then to her distraught face. 

“It’s yours!” she shouted.

“You want me to keep the medallion?”

“No, you idiot! This!” She pointed at her belly. “It’s yours.”

“Rose, now is hardly the time to jest. We need to leave, we both do before..." She must be kidding, but she wasn’t laughing. 

“This baby is yours.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“This baby is _ours,_ Armitage!”

_What._

Was she stalling for time? Trying to keep him from returning to the bridge? But those eyes did not lie, they never did. She was serious.

_WHAT!?_

No, it was impossible. She must be mistaken. She had medical examinations at the brothel, they had checked to confirm that she was untouched; he assumed they would have taken preventive measures while they were _in the area._ And how about… “The flyboy. What about the Resistance flyboy?”

“What _flyboy?!”_ she exclaimed. “There’s no _flyboy,_ and no gunner and no Finn either. I’ve only slept with one kriffin’ man! Just a clean-shaven, dense _idiot_ named Armitage Hux!”

He grabbed the back of her head and pulled her into his chest, steadying her there in an awkward one-armed hug. His other hand stretched over to the console behind her, and furiously inputted coordinates on Batuu that were safe from conflict zones. He initiated the pod’s liftoff.

“I trust that you will decode any encrypted messaging when the time comes.” 

He released her and jumped out of the pod. The door shut in her face. Wild-eyed and fist banging on the porthole, she seemed to be screaming his name and the word ‘please’.

_Did you beg for him, crying out his name?_

This infuriating woman was right: he was an idiot.

_Do you love him?_

An absolute, utter fool.

But she was wrong about one thing: he would not take away her child. He would not separate them from their mother. He would not raise a bastard to his likeness. 

“I am _not_ my father,” he said loud and clear, to himself. His face lifted into a smile; he felt it up to his eyes, and maybe she felt it too because she stopped screaming and looked at him in awe. Then, the pod blasted off.

Necklace dangling from his wrist, he looped it over his head. His hair hung in his face, his uniform was destroyed, he was a complete mess. He couldn’t return to the bridge with such an unsightly appearance. But who was he kidding? He had no time to get back and the damage had already been done. A General should never leave their post, and he had, and did not care. No remorse, no fear. Despite the consequences, he held no regrets. 

He entered an escape pod and initiated its liftoff. 

He shook his head. A child. The _one_ time he took no precautions… He had always been so _kriffin’_ careful. Only this woman, the true physical embodiment of chaos, could ruffle up his life and spin him into an entirely different direction. But he would not dwell on the ramifications just yet. The news would likely haunt him for more than 124 standard days. For now, he was too tired to think about anything.

As the pod blasted off, Armitage stared out the porthole to take in the view of the _Finalizer_ crumbling into oblivion against the backdrop of deep black space. Within this galaxy and the ever-expanding universe, containing billions of lifeforms upon billions of possibilities, of infinite potential… 

His flagship in flames looked like a tiny spark.

  


  



End file.
